


mr. postman

by afterhourss



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dark Peter Parker, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I love her, I'm Bad At Tagging, Is the best, Karen the AI - Freeform, Minor Original Character(s), Peter Parker Needs a Hug, The Avengers are a team, Tony Stark Has A Heart, barely, but seriously how do you tag, dont even get me started on iw, fuck civil war, im also shit at dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 06:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18219359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterhourss/pseuds/afterhourss
Summary: Red was the colour of Spider-Man. Perhaps more accurately, red and blue, but mainly red.Peter chose red not just because there were no other colours in the thrift shop window, but because red reminded him of courage, of strength and of love.Never did it occur to him that red was also the colour of rage.***Spider-Man runs into a figure from a night he would rather not remember.





	mr. postman

**Author's Note:**

> basically...
> 
> -peter has been Spider-Man for two years and is currently 16  
> -S.H.I.E.L.D and the Avengers know of Spider-Man but do not know his identity, nor have met him
> 
> other than that,, hi, welcome, enjoy x

There is a misconception that emotion and trauma are bad for the memory. In fact, it is the opposite. Our brain flags what is important with strong emotions. During these emotionally charged moments, although the brain is tagging it as important, it is not necessarily able to focus on the key details. This leaves the survivor with strange details, like the sweater of the attacker or a… tattoo.

 

Two years ago, when Ben was bleeding out on the pavement, choking out his last words, Peter noticed one thing (you know, besides the blood staining the sidewalk red, the calm acceptance in Ben’s eyes that _shouldn’t_ have been there and oh god, the blood, _too much_ _blood_ ). The man running away, the man with the gun, who shot Ben over twenty bucks, had one of the dumbest tattoos Peter had ever seen.

 

He had a fucking _swastika._

 

 _And now there’s Nazis again?_ Peter thought.

He nearly laughed.

 

The year following Ben’s death, Spider-Man had searched all of New York for that dumb tattoo to no success. Eventually, he set his sights on a greater responsibility, focusing on helping his city, taking down the same common thieves that he wished so fervently he had bothered with that night. Spider-Man made sure that no more Uncle Bens were lost. Despite it all, he was moving on, trying not to shoulder the blame and searching less and less for that goddamn swastika.

 

Old habits die hard though and if Peter checked the left bicep of every blonde criminal he cornered, well, who was to know?

 

***

 

“Karen?”

 

He loved these moments. Kicking his feet out over the tiny cars below, Peter listened to the singing of a nanny in the building one over as all other noises faded to a hum.

 

_‘For just a card, for just a letter, Saying he's returning home to me,’_

 

“Yes, Peter?”, seemingly indifferent, affection was only heard in the AI’s voice if you knew what you were looking for.

 

“What do you think the chances of non-burnt pasta is tonight?”

 

The song of nanny reached chorus and Peter smiled as he recognised the tune.

 

_‘Please, Mr. Postman, oh yeah, Please, please, Mr. Postman_

 

“My records show no instances of Aunt May cooking pasta correctly, Peter”

 

He laughed, “That’s what I thought”.

 

It was getting darker, the days getting shorter, even though daylight savings had only ended a few days ago. A clock chimed somewhere. Once, twice… seven times. And as it so often is in the City That Never Sleeps, the calm was broken just as quickly as it had started when a scream rang out into the night.

 

Peter slipped down his mask and stood up, only to drop off the building (on purpose… this time at least) adrenaline already pumping. He fell, waiting until the last minute to shoot out a web, scaring a few pedestrians into shrieks of laughter. His swings got shorter as he pulled himself further and faster through the air in the direction of the sound.

 

“Can we get a location on that, Karen?”

 

A second scream, slightly more desperate caught his attention.

 

“I am detecting two increased heart rates in the second alleyway off 56th Avenue”.

 

 “Thanks”.

 

Swinging into the alley, he landed lightly on his feet.

 

“Hey, man, you’re not gonna be making to many friends if you wave that thing around.”

 

The mugger whipped around and hesitated a moment before charging towards him fist raised. Wisely, the victim ran off.

 

“Not looking for friends?”

 

This seemed to infuriate the poor guy as he closed the gap between the by throwing a slow punch. Almost bored, Peter caught it before using the momentum to flip him over. It was at this point Mr Mugger seemed to remember he had a gun but alas, a second too late, as a well-placed web yanked it out of his hand.

 

The man struggled as if he truly believed he could be the first common criminal to take down a mutant. He was awarded with a cocoon of webs and a smile (his mask kind of makes it pointless, but, hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?).  

 

Spotting a flickering light at the entrance to the alley, Peter decided that’s where he would truss up the guy again, in plain sight for whoever was sent after the anonymous 911 call.

 

Sticking Mr Mugger to the lamppost with slightly more webs than necessary he gave the guy a bit of breathing room. Clearly, too _much_ breathing room. Mugger Man whipped out an arm to throw a second punch and caught Peter by surprise.

 

“It appears you have sustained minor injuries to your face and jaw”, Karen supplied helpfully.

 

“Thanks, Karen, I got that part”.

 

He pulled Mr Mugger’s loose hand over his head, about to stick it back to the lamppost when a familiar flash of black caught his eye.

 

That fucking swastika.

 

Peter saw red.

 

***

 

Tony sighed at the insistent beeping of Fury’s incoming call. The _sixth_ incoming call from Fury in the last minute.

 

He supposed it might be important, but, really, that was all the more reason to not answer.

 

He pressed accept.

 

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Postman?” Tony answered, singing the last few words. He had had that song by, who was it… The Marvels… in his head all day and wanted to impart some of the beautiful lyrics on another being.

 

“If you are done with your terrible Marvelettes rendition, Stark?” Fury said, apparently not impressed.

 

“The Marvelettes! Of course! Thanks, old man, didn’t know you were also a fa—”

 

Fury cut him off, remembering only too well where his last conversation about the Marvelettes had led him.

 

“Stark, we have far more important matters on our hands then those of the Marvelettes. Since our conversation on the matter earlier this month, S.H.I.E.L.D has been keeping tabs on Spider-Man, over in Queens”. Fury relayed, as always, quick and to-the-point.

 

Tony chuckled. “More like Spider-Boy. I don’t know if S.H.I.E.L.D does their research, but the guy is only patrolling after school hours, plus he’s like, tiny”.

 

“Boy or man, S.H.I.E.L.D has elected to bring him in for questioning. We will require the Avengers if he is uncooperative”.

 

Tony choked on a blueberry.

 

“Last time I checked, we decided he was harmless! Now you need the whole team to bring him down?”

 

“Not as harmless as we originally imagined. Spider-Man made his first confirmed kill 21:46 EST, or 10:46pm, earlier tonight.”

 

***

 

_‘You better wait, wait a minute,’_

As far as Matt was concerned, there were no perks to the night shift. The radio cooed softly as he drove slowly through the back streets, sent after an anonymous 911, called from this random phonebooth.

 

_‘Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute,’_

 

Who used a phonebooth anymore, Matt had no idea, let alone using said phonebooth at 11pm. He pulled up beside a flickering lamppost and stalled in the warmth of the car, dreading the chill of the night air.

 

_‘Please, Mr. Postman,’_

 

Finally, he stepped out into the brisk air, straight away noticing the bloodied body. Great, paperwork. Matt didn’t even bother checking for a pulse, instead carefully picking his way through the scene to the booth. The scratched plastic sides were red, painted morbidly too, with blood. The phone itself was covered in dark handprints, helpful if not for the fact that there looked to be no prints, as if the owner had worn gloves.

 

Turning back to the body, Matt noticed something he previously hadn’t. Eerily floating down, clinging the brick walls and swimming in the pools of blood were what appeared to be spider’s webs.

 

Matt clicked on his walkie-talkie.

 

“I’m gonna need a crew here on 56th Ave, ASAP.”

 

 _‘Wait a minute, please, Mr. Postman.’_  

**Author's Note:**

> congrats if u spotted the small John Mulaney reference, i now see you in a higher light.
> 
> i have ideas for where this might go, but for now this work is a one shot, lmk if you wanna see more.
> 
> constructive criticism welcome as are any comments. please leave kudos if you enjoyed, it means the world  
> thanks for reading x
> 
> *update*  
> i am (very VERY slowly) starting to write more to this story and thinking that 'mr postman' will become more of a prologue for a bigger story. i want the next chapter to be fairly long and have a (vague!!) idea of what is going to go on in each chapter.  
> thank you so much to all the encouraging comments and kudos x


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